Hey fellow readers! First off, thank you all so much for reading my story, it means a lot :) Second, December 23rd marks the first day one year ago that I started this story! So happy birthday, The Eleventh Hunger Games haha :D And third, I am so sorry for the lack of updates, oops. I hope this chapter makes up for it. But oh my gosh this chapter was so fun and nerve wracking to write! I hope it is the same to read; enjoy! And thanks again, I love you all :)

Chapter Nine

The Games

But of course, the Games still have yet to officially start. After a sixty-second countdown, the gong will sound and that is when the Games begin. President Bristol's deep voice rings through the air, suddenly replaced by the voice of a Gamemaker. "Sixty." My heart leaps into my throat, sixty seconds. Get yourself together Mags. "Fifty-nine." I mentally nod my head and begin to scan my surroundings, hands clenched at my sides to lessen the shaking. I squeeze my eyes shut. Wait. This can't be right. I open them wide and scan it again. A thick layer of fog surrounds us, giving everything a misty gray mask. The golden Cornucopia rests in the depth of the fog, its shining peak cresting the dense air.

"Forty-seven." I clench my fists even tighter. Okay. Fog. My eyes dart down to the ground, where the land is made up of heel-sized smooth, black stones. My bare feet, beginning to turn pink at the toes from the slight chill in the air, press firmly into the metal plate I stand on. This is not going to be fun.

"Forty-three." My eyes flip back to the Cornucopia and try to get a glimpse at what treasures lay inside. An abundance of several types of weapons spill from the mouth, varying from gleaming machetes, a collection of deadly daggers, and even a few crossbows. Peeking around the rim of the Cornucopia are some small, light green backpacks. On the outskirts of the Cornucopia, though still only a mere twenty feet away from it, are scattered daggers digging into the black rocks.

"Thirty-six." A plan manages to form in my frantic mind. It may be pathetic, but it is something.

"Thirty-two." Next, I scan the tributes beside me. To my right a pale girl with limp brown hair stands trembling, her eyes darting right and left. For a quick moment our eyes lock, and it is as if we both understood each other. We are terrified for our lives. But then our eyes part just as fast and move away. I swivel my head to the left. A tall, olive skinned boy wears a solemn look on his face as if he knows what will happen next, as if he is already dead. In a way, all but one of us are all dead. The moment our pedestals opened up--no--the moment our names were reaped, we were dead.

"Twenty-seven." I can feel my legs begin to slightly quiver beneath me. My eyes skim the tributes, absorbing each and every figure and labeling them as enemy or ally. And then they land on a lean boy with shaggy hair. Ben. His eyes suddenly find mine, dart to the Cornucopia, back to mine, give me a wink, and then resume their search around the arena.

"Twenty-two." Lorem is seven tributes down from me. He wears the face of a predator: a tiger longing to tear free from its cage and begin its hunt.

"Twenty."

"Nineteen."

"Eighteen." My nails dig into my palms, the sting not nearly as painful as the anxiety clawing in my stomach like an angry monster.

"Seventeen."

"Sixteen."

"Fif-"

BOOM!!

My first thought is Run. It's began. Get away from the Cornucopia and Run. And I almost do. Almost. But then the fog explodes in red. Something warm and wet lands on my cheek, and I raise my hand to peel off the piece that raises bile in my throat. Skin. I clench my teeth from crying out and fling it away and use my sleeve to rub furiously at my cheek, choking down this morning's food. And somehow I just know who it is; and when I look to my right, my ears still ringing from the blast, the empty space where the trembling girl once stood proves me right. And now she's glued in pieces between the black stones like moss and grime squeezed and fitted amongst the ocean rocks. I feel myself go pale as I stare in horror at what her remains and my bloody hand, only faintly aware of the other tributes around me.

And then suddenly my ears pick out the booming voice.

"Six." As if it were possible, panic surges through me like a tidal wave, and I begin to tremble all over, my eyes darting from the "girl" to the tributes to the Cornucopia to the foggy sky to my cold toes to my trembling fisted hands, where my fingernails dig deeply into the soft flesh.

"Four." A scream runs wild inside my mind and I press my lips tightly together. A small, nearly unreachable voice floats into my tangled mind. You can do this. Just calm down and everything will be okay. Focus Mags. Focus.

"Three." I can feel the tension amongst the tributes. It hangs in the air like the fog. Like poison.

"Two." My heart hammers in my throat. You can do it. Just run. Run far away. "One." The gong rings.

. . . . . .

My feet fly off the pedestal before I can even comprehend what is happening. They slap onto the cool black stones and tear through the fog, retreating from the several tributes racing towards the Cornucopia. And then the first scream pierces through the deadly air. The Blood Bath has begun.

I never was good at running. Naturally, I favor more in swimming than anything else. But today, despite my struggling breaths and my thighs feeling as if they are being slowly pulled and burned, and my lungs screaming for air, and my feet being pounded and bruised after every impact on the black rocks, I run until the screams begin to fade away. I run until the last tribute far to my side trails off to somewhere else. I run until the fog dissipates and dark, spindly arms of trees loom overhead. I run until the stones become soft leaves of auburn beneath my feet. And that is when I stop.

I collapse in a heap at the base of the tree, my heart a hummingbird imprisoned in my heaving chest. All I can think of is: I made it. I'm alive. I made it. It takes me a full twenty minutes to regain a clear mind and observe my surroundings. Above me, the sky is a deep, dying orange. Walls of dark brown aspen trees besiege the land of dry leaves. To my left a stretch away the trees begin to recede, and the dry leaves fade into black stones. I instinctively look down at my bare feet and suck in my breath. The bottoms of my feet are swollen and pummeled with deep purple and blue bruises, covering from my cracked heels to my raw toes. If this happened in only a matter of a day, I don't even want to think about what will happen in the days to come. I tenderly brush my fingers over my feet, wincing at the slightest touch. I rub my dry sandpaper tongue against the roof of my mouth. I need water desperately. Wouldn't the Capitol get a laugh if the girl from a district surrounded by water died without a drop...I sigh and press closer to the tree. Crunch. The dry leaves break underneath me. I cringe and look around. Although nature may have been my enemy today, I'd rather have bruised feet than a slit neck. I swivel my head around and cautiously examine the area once again, making sure I don't have any unwanted company.

The sun finally sighs its last breath and sinks beneath the horizon, immersing the arena in a hazy purple. Surprisingly, the chill that welcomed us into the arena has disappeared, leaving behind a neutral temperature. Maybe the Gamemakers will be nice to us after all...The sky turns a deeper purple and I know that I am as vulnerable as a rabbit down here. I slowly stretch my stiff muscles and try to get onto my feet. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out before I fall back onto the ground. That makes climbing the tree out of the idea, let alone standing. Instead, I crawl to my knees and begin to gather the leaves into a pile beside the tree, spreading out other leaves in their place to give the image that no leaves were taken, leaving a large pile beside my tree. I numbly crawl under the pile and spread the leaves out to give the illusion that I have never set foot here, as well as providing me at least some warmth and shelter. I make a small space for my mouth and eyes and slide my arms back into the leaves.

The anthem booming throughout the arena makes me open my tired eyes. The seal of the Capitol gleams through the starved branches above me, proceeding the Death recap of the day. For a moment the sky goes dark and the anthem disappears, and then the first face is revealed. Not surprisingly, both tributes from District One and Two survived. A boy from District Three has died. I hold my breath as his face disappears. And release it when both tributes from District Six appear. So both Lorem and Ben have survived. The girl from Seven, the boy from Eight, both from Ten, including the pale girl who stepped off her pedestal early appear. Suddenly her face brings a name to my mind. Kamak. I close my eyes and mentally apologize to the girl before looking back up at the sky. The girl from District Twelve has died. That leaves...I mentally tally the dead...eight tributes dead, sixteen remaining. The image disappears into the night sky.

Today was too easy. I was spoiled with the escape of only a few bruises and a tired body. They want action. Blood, gore, death, twisted fun. They will get their revenge. And soon.